The Prelude
by Hollow Assassin
Summary: The Hero of Bowerstone has finally retired from her life of battling evil and has settled down to raise a family as queen. But when Theresa pays her one final visit to warn her of some unnamed danger, the queen's world begins to unravel at the seems. R
1. Chapter 1

**A quick A/N: **This story takes place after the events of Fable II and before the events of Fable III, so it will contain spoilers for both games. Though Fable III has yet to come out, I have taken what has been revealed by Lionhead to piece together my own backstory. Whether or not it is accurate remains to be seen. But I digress; if any of you have not at least completed the Fable II story line and do not wish for any of it to be spoiled for you, I suggest you don't read. As for the Fable III spoilers, most of it is general knowledge, so it may not really be considered "spoilers" unless you want to be completely surprised when it's released.

**Disclaimer:** I own absolutely nothing. I did flesh out the characters a bit more than they are in-game, but they are all based on characters that were generated within the game and their personalities are based off of the ones the game gave them.

The Prelude

Part One

There was something unique about the youngest son; it hung over the boy like a dark cloud, streaked with lightning and alive with thunder. The queen's forefinger made gentle circles upon her swelling stomach, but her thoughts were on her son as he watched his two sisters play within the courtyard. He was a quiet one, regarded as strange by the other children and adored by the nobles. Even at the age of eight, he was more like an adult than a child; rarely if ever did he have fun, preferring to read or stare broodingly into space to frolicking in the shining Bowerstone sun. It was not normal, the queen knew, for a child to be so withdrawn and serious. As an experienced mother of five, she couldn't help but wonder if something was wrong.

A tan hand gently wrapped around the one she was using to trace patterns upon her belly. She looked up to see her husband's kind, bestubbled face and gave him a small, warm smile of relief. "Dean," she breathed, leaning gingerly into his side. He wrapped his arms lovingly around her.

"You seem worried, love," he noted, his voice coming in comfortingly light lilts. "Is it about the baby?"

It was not, though she guessed that she should have been worried about her unborn child. Forty-five was awfully old to be pregnant-usually women her age stopped being able to have children, and when they did end up with child, the births would be too much for the mother, or the babe would arrive deformed in either the mind or the body. But the queen was confident that this was not to be the case for her child. "No… No, it's not that."

Dean's brow furrowed. "Then what's eatin' ya, Maeg?" His lack of learned and proper use of the language, as well as the use of his nick-name for her betrayed his humble origins as a gypsy stone cutter. In truth, their entire family was unorthodox. While the daring Hero that had slain the vile Lord Lucien was a grand choice for a queen, the family that came with her was certainly out of place on the Fairfax estate.

"Logan is not like the other children," she replied quietly, casting a furtive glance at the boy in question. "I fear he doesn't enjoy himself as a boy his age should. I hope the other boys aren't treating him unkindly…"

"Brothers are always unkind to each other," Dean chuckled softly into her apple-red hair. "You saw it with Richard and Martin when they were younger, but they turned out fine. Richy is now a young man, and he's on his way to making a swell king, and Martin's a good kid, though he does tend to shirk his studies more often than I'd like…"

"He learned that from you," the queen pointed out playfully. Her husband's light-heartedness was contagious, and she could not help the sassy remark. She tilted her head back to get a good look at him and smiled happily up at him. He grinned back.

"And he got his sense of humor from you," he teased.

She rolled her eyes and looked ahead again. "Oh, yes; because flatulence is certainly my forte."

"I seem to remember a day when you'd let one rip-"

"DEAN!" she fairly shrieked, slapping his shoulder with a laugh, echoing his own. This was why she loved him: she could laugh and joke and be as immature as she wanted around him when she could not around anyone else. With him, she could be Maegan Monroe, not the Hero and Queen of Albion; she couldn't think of spending her life with anyone else.

"Mother~!" the eldest of their two daughters called from across the courtyard, waving her arm in an effort to catch the queen's attention. Her blonde, braided hair swayed gently from side to side, and the few noblemen that stood within the gardens swooned as she passed them. She was a beautiful youth at the ripe age of twenty-six, and it was no wonder that she turned the heads of many of the men within the town. Her meek kindness made her more suited to loping with deer in some peaceful, forgotten meadow than to living in Fairfax Castle as a princess, and the men seemed to lover her all the more for it. But she expressed little interest- her main concern at the moment was the good of her family. She loved her younger siblings more than anything in the world, and most of her time was spent with them. Even as she trotted up to meet her mother, Angela, her younger sister and Logan's twin, had her hand in hers. "Mama," she said again when they were nearer, "there's a strange Seer-woman at the gate. She wishes to speak with you."

The queen's brow furrowed as she frowned reproachfully at her eldest daughter. "You didn't invite her inside, Anne?"

"I did, but she wishes to stay where she is. She wants you to come to her. I think she's being rather rude, but I'm too afraid to refuse her…" The young woman was at her mother's side now, her soft, lovely features screwed up in concern. "She's quite blind, you see, but I… I think she can still _see_ me… I know I'm being ridiculous, but she makes me feel rather uncomfortable…"

"I _like_ her!" the black-haired Angela piped up, bouncing up and down on one leg as if to emphasize her point.

The queen let out a small laugh at the young girl's antics before turning her attention back to Anne. "Don't worry, dear. Angela has the right impression of her-I assure you Theresa is quite kind and harmless. Thought a bit off-putting…"

Dean looked a bit uneasy at the mention of the old Seer, but said nothing. He did give a little shiver, though his wife did not see it.

Beautiful Anne blinked cautiously up at her mother. "Do you know her, Mama?"

"Yes… She is an old friend from my glory days… You could say she was like a mother to me."

"If she's our grandma, how come she never visits?" Angela questioned innocently. "Auntie Hammer always visits, but I've never seen this lady before!"

"She's not really our grandmother, Angie," Anne clarified good-naturedly.

"Theresa lives very far away, so she can't come very often," Maegan said, though it was only a half-truth. She had fully expected never to see Theresa again after the final battle with Lucien in the Spire, half because of the distance and lack of transportation methods, but also because it had seemed like the Seer no longer wanted to have anything to do with her. The Guild Seal had been silent since that day, and she had had no contact with the woman in over nine years. For her to suddenly appear at the Fairfax Gates was certainly unexpected. "I will go to her. Anne, be a dear and give little Logan some attention too. He's always alone and it makes me worry…"

The younger woman nodded, turning her loving brown eyes onto the youngest of her brothers as Angela ran over to entice him into a game of tag. The queen watched for a moment before starting on her way, but was stopped when her husband took hold of her arm. "Let me go with you," he urged, his dark eyes pleading with his wife's bright blue ones. "I met Theresa once… I don't trust her."

She let out a pleasant laugh. "Not many do, love. But trust me on this: I grew up around her. I've lived with her. She took care of me when no one else would. I'll be fine- she has yet to give me a reason not to trust her."

"I know, but still-"

"I'll be fine," she said again, silencing him with a chaste kiss. She pulled away and moved across the courtyard before he could protest again, her pace slow due to her swollen belly.

The Seer looked as though she hadn't aged a day since the last time they had seen each other, alone together within the walls of the Spire, at the mercy of its awesome, ill-gotten power. It was strange to see her now, book-ended by the regal gates to the Fairfax Gardens and surrounded by the flowering spring trees. She still wore the red and white hooded cloak and dress that Maegan remembered her in, unchanged by the ravages of time. The queen thought her wrinkles, which had only begun to appear, were beginning to weigh a thousand tons, sagging ugly on her face.

"It has been a long time, Hero," Theresa said in greeting, a small smile gracing her thin lips.

"Indeed it has," Maegan replied, forgetting her aging body in a smile of her own. She had the strongest urge to run and hug the gypsy woman, but for some reason she seemed untouchable. "It is so good to see you, Theresa. What brings you to Castle Fairfax?"

"I have heard that you are once again with child."

"Yes… I am quite excited." The queen could not help but wonder where this was going. She had had five children before, and Theresa had never come to see her about them. "I am a little concerned for the baby's health, though. I am not as young as I used to be…"

The Seer was silent for a moment, as if she were pondering her next words with extra care. "I have seen your child's future, little Sparrow. I believe I gave you a small glimpse into it many years ago."

The queen ignored the use of her long-lost childhood nick-name, far too distracted by the information Theresa had just presented. Her eyes grew wide and both of her hands, calloused from her many previous years in battle, moved to her stomach. "You… you don't mean… that this baby is…"

"Yes. She is the one that will succeed you as Hero. It is with her that the fate of Albion lies."

"She… So it's a girl then…"

The gypsy woman smiled gently as the Queen of Albion stared down in wonder at her belly, as if she could see the growing babe within. "She will be like you in many ways. But I did not come to tell you this, little Sparrow."

"No?" asked the queen, not looking up.

"No… I am afraid I bring very grave news."

It was at that moment that Maegan's head snapped up, her face white. "About the baby?"

"Partially, yes."

The queen swallowed thickly, waiting for the other woman to continue. When she didn't, she ordered gravely, "Tell me everything."

"I am afraid that is not possible."

"What do you mean? You can't come here and tell me that you've got bad news about my baby, and then not tell me what it is!"

"Calm yourself, Sparrow-I mean that to tell you everything would be very cruel, for what I have seen would shake the very foundations upon which your family sits. No, I have come to tell you that there is a danger from within. A very potent one."

"Well, what is it? What must I do to stop it?"

"I cannot tell you."

"You must!"

"It cannot be stopped, Hero. The wheels have already been set to motion. There is no turning back. The danger is not immediate; it will not surface until you have passed from this world. But you must prepare for its arrival if you wish your unborn child to survive it."

Maegan was trembling now. She didn't understand. What did this mean? Why was Theresa telling her this when there was nothing she could do? "But the future is always changeable, right? Depending on the decisions we make, it can always be avoided, right? That's what you told me before, when I was young-"

"In most cases… in much _simpler _cases, yes. But there are certain events that have been set and cannot be changed or avoided. When they are events that will change the world and all the people in it, there is no way around them. This is one such event. This is your child's destiny, little Sparrow. Your child will be born for this purpose."

"What is that purpose?"

"I cannot tell you."

"By Avo, Theresa! I've had enough of your games! This is my family!" She was angry, desperate even. She didn't like what she was hearing, didn't like the fact that she was helpless. And the fact that Theresa was so calm when the world was collapsing only enraged her further.

The blind woman said nothing, and after a moment, the queen couldn't help but break down into sobs, sinking to her knees on the gravel path. How could this be happening? Why was Theresa, the closest thing she had to a mother, being so cruel to her? Messing with her emotions when she was pregnant didn't seem like a very motherly thing to do, nor was it very wise. If Theresa was supposed to be a judicious mother-figure, she wasn't doing a very good job at the moment.

Finally, Theresa spoke, her voice soft and morose, though somewhat comforting. Motherly, even. Just the way Maegan remembered it from when she was a child, "Your daughter will destroy the evil within your family, Sparrow. It is not your burden to bear."

"Then why make me bear it?" the distraught woman croaked, looking up at her with blurry, tear-filled eyes.

Theresa looked pained at this, laying a gentle, ring-adorned hand upon the top of the queen's head. "I assure you, that was not my intention, little Sparrow… I merely came to warn you so that you can give your daughter the tools she needs to begin her journey and save her country."

Maegan sniffed, comforted somewhat, and stood back up. "What must I do?"

"Teach her everything you know," the Seer replied. "Teach her what is right and good, the ways of the just."

She nodded. "I will."

There was silence between them for a moment before the gypsy woman asked, "Do you recall the day after you first bought Fairfax Castle, when the bandits invaded your home through a secret passage?"

Maegan nodded, not bothering to ask how Theresa knew about that. She had probably seen it in a vision and didn't bother telling her about it. "Yes, I remember."

"Have you told anyone about that passage?"

"I showed Jasper and Walter it so that they could keep it sealed and safe so that nothing and no one else could get in, but that's it. I told them not to tell anyone about it, just in case word got to our enemies…" She looked up at her old mentor confusedly. "Why do you ask?"

"That is very good. You must introduce your unborn child to it when she is old enough to brave it. Show it to no other members of your family-it must remain a secret. Do you understand?"

"Yes… But why? Shouldn't the others know about it in case-"

"They will have no need of it. But the babe you carry will find it quite useful in trying times."

Maegan squirmed, not quite satisfied with that answer, but having no choice but to agree. Theresa was always so cryptic and confusing. It could be quite frustrating at times to deal with her, but she knew better than to question her judgment. "Anything else I must do?"

Surprisingly, Theresa smiled lovingly down at the queen's protruding stomach. "Simply show her the love and care you show all your children, and let her be a child just as much as you must train her."

"…Thank you, Theresa. For everything. I might not fully understand, but… thank you." The queen felt sad all of the sudden, and she couldn't stop the words before they tumbled from her mouth, "You will visit us again, won't you?"

"I am afraid this is our last good-bye, little Sparrow," the blind woman replied gently. "But know that I will watch over the little one when you are gone. She will not come to harm, I promise you."

Maegan wasn't quite sure she found this to be a comfort or not, but she smiled unhappily anyway. "I'm not sure I want to say good-bye."

Theresa only smiled softly. "Farewell, little Sparrow." And before the queen could return the words, the Seer faded away into a pale blue light. Soon that faded away too, and Maegan was left to stand there between to two great Fairfax Gate pillars and contemplate the meeting that was now but a bitter-sweet memory.

**A/N: **Ah, it's good to be back!

So, this is the first of a short chapter fanfiction for Fable II/III. I guess it's sort of a background story on how the Hero of Fable III got to where she is at the beginning of the game. So it's going to end on a rather sour note, just to warn you all.

I really like how this story turned out. At first, I wasn't sure about writing it, since I have no idea what Fable III is going to be like, but I thought, "what the heck" and went with it anyway. I love the family ties that go into this story, and how character-driven it really is. So I'm excited! 8D

I guess this means that Iniquity is officially on hiatus. Not that it hasn't been for the past year or so... ^_^;


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer: I own nothing.**

The Prelude

Part Two

With raven curls that bounced as she tottered about, porcelain skin, rosy cheeks, and bright blue eyes, Elena Monroe was beautiful. She was a perfect baby girl, healthy and well-loved from the moment of her birth. Even as the queen watched her son Richard toss the two-year-old child in the air, her heart swelled with love and pride for her family. While Theresa's warning and instructions had not been forgotten, Maegan could not help but delight in the few years in which her newest daughter was too young to undergo any sort of training that went beyond that of normal children. It was during these years that the queen and her family could live in peaceful bliss and normality, untroubled by what the future might have held.

On this particular morning, the sky was gray and dismal and threatened bustling Bowerstone with a storm. So, like the rest of the city, the royal family opted to stay indoors to wait out the coming rain. The children were scattered about the castle-Logan and Angela had run off to cause havoc in the library, their father in tow; gentle Anne was in the servants' section of the castle, where she had befriended many of the workers over the years; and Martin was down in the training hall with Sir Walter Beck, doing their regular mock-duals and going about princely lessons. Maegan, her eldest son, and the youngest child had settled down in the study. Richard had meant to begin reading a lengthy history book on the wars and tactics of the many prior kings of Albion, but was soon distracted by Elena's persistent wish to play. He had been all too ready to oblige, and his mother didn't have the heart to order him back to his studies.

As she watched her children prance about the room in a game of chase from her spot in her over-sized leather chair, the queen let her mind wander back to her past. The room itself was the culprit for these dark thoughts, for it had remained much the same as that fateful night of her sister's passing. She took comfort in knowing that Rose was now alive and well, thanks to her wish at the Spire, but it was a painful memory regardless. She gave her head a mental shake and assured herself that the past was over and done with, and concentrated again on the young man and child before her.

It was not long before Richard was thoroughly exhausted, and he plopped down cross-legged on the hard-wood floor and ran a tanned hand through his black locks. "The little tyke's got more energy than I can handle!" he laughed. Despite his learned speech and the ponytail, he reminded the queen much of his father. He was the prince, but he had the look and air of a gypsy about him, and a personality to match. He was happy, fun-loving, and his mother couldn't have been more proud of him. "I don't know how you do it, Mum. Six kids are quite the handful."

"It's easy when they're all good kids," she replied, just as little Elena tottered over to her and stretched out her pudgy baby arms.

"Up!" the child demanded, standing on the balls of her feet to emphasize her point.

"What do you say?" Maegan asked in the teasing way mothers always do.

"Peas?"

With a light chuckle at the miss-pronunciation , she picked up her daughter and set her in her lap before playing with her dark curls. "Why is it that you all have your daddy's hair? Well, Martin has Rose's…"

"Anne has blonde hair," Richard remarked.

"Yeah, and I have no idea where she got that from."

"My, _my,_ you have been busy, haven't you?" Maegan leapt up at the familiar, annoyingly charming voice that sounded from the doorway, her eyes round as saucers and filled with shock and fury. The intruder flashed her his best trademark grin. "Hello, dove."

_"REAVER!" _Maegan snarled, "What in Avo's name do you think you're doing?"

The handsome man feigned a hurt expression. "Why, I'm _visiting_! It's been years, and I haven't received one letter! I go on vacation for a couple of years and all of my friends abandon me. What else was I supposed to do? I couldn't very well just let things be-"

"How did you even get in here?" the queen interrupted, ignoring the pirate's sarcasm and Elena's sudden sobbing. "I am not taking visitors!"

"Yes, well, that's what the elderly gent at the front said, but after a little persuasion-"

"Oh my-You KILLED Jasper?"

"I wouldn't say that. 'Killed' is such a strong word… But he won't be getting up for a while yet, so we shouldn't be disturbed." There was a subtle 'click,' and in an instant Reaver's Dragonstomper .48 had been leveled with Richard's head, who had only just begun to pull his own run from its holster. "Put it away, boy. Shedding blood won't help matters on my part, but I won't hesitate to kill you should you prove to be a problem. Prince or not."

Richard stood frozen, his face set in a stony mask as his grip on his clockwork pistol tightened. His eyes darted from Reaver to his mother and back again. For a long, dreadful moment, the only sound was Elena's muffled weeping, until finally Maegan said with a sigh, "Richard, just put the gun away. There's nothing for it, anyhow." Then she turned her boiling gaze onto the pirate. "What do you want, Reaver?"

"I have a proposition," he replied as he holstered the Dragonstomper, "that I think might be worth your while."

"Alright, let's hear it."

"Mother-!" Richard protested, but she held up a hand.

"I know what I'm doing. Take Elena and join Martin in the training hall."

"But-"

"Go," she ordered, fixing him with a harsh stare that clearly stated that she was not to be messed with at the moment. Discouraged, her son obeyed, taking the crying little girl from her mother's arms and making his way towards the door, being sure to give Reaver a wide birth.

Once he was gone, the pirate shut the door and the queen eased herself back into her seat. He paused, as if waiting for something, before crossing his arms indignantly over his chest. "Aren't you going to offer me something to drink?"

"No."

"Not even tea?"

"Oh, I'm sorry-we just ran out."

He looked rather put-out at this for a moment before he shrugged and began the difficult task of selecting which chair he wanted to sit in.

"You're looking younger than I remember. Make a few extra sacrifices to the Shadow Court recently?" she asked spitefully as he lounged gracefully in the seat across from her.

He frowned. "I never give extra."

"No? Forgive me, I assumed it didn't matter to you."

He gave her a tight, forced smile and leaned forward. "Perhaps this time I'll make an exception."

Maegan rolled her eyes. "Let's just get on with it, shall we? What do you want?"

"Right. Let me just cut to the chase-your little 'hunt down the pirates' campaign has caused me quite a bit of grief. Bloodstone is in even more disrepair than usual, and I can't sail anywhere in my own ship without nearly being gunned down by your little armada."

"Piracy is a big problem in our waters, Reaver. I can't have a bunch of thieves threatening my people, and I'm not about to change the law just because you ask me to." She frowned, wondering where this was going. Surely he did not come thinking that he could convince her to give the pirates free reign over the seas. What was this really about?

"I'm not asking you to," he replied casually, as if his prior complaint was of no real importance. "You see, I've grown tired of the sea life. I've decided to turn over a new leaf."

"Uh-huh," the queen snorted. "And what would that be? Bandit? Or perhaps a job as an assassin would be a better choice for you…"

He waved these suggestions off as if they were silly notions a child would make. "No, no, no, I'm talking about business, Maegan!"

"Business."

"Yes, that's right."

"So, what? You're going to open a stall now? Start vending fruit? Is the Dragonstomper for sale?"

Reaver scowled, and the queen could really see that he was starting to get annoyed. "Don't get your hopes up, dove. No, I was thinking more along the lines of the mass production and transportation of goods. World trade, factories, that sort of thing. I think I'll call it 'Reaver Industries.'"

"Great. What's this got to do with me?"

"Well, I must admit that starting such an adventure would be difficult with a price on my head."

"You want me to grant you amnesty."

"That would be nice, yes."

"And why would I do a crazy thing like that?"

His frown was replaced by a smug grin. "I want you to co-own the industry with me." He paused and waited for her to respond, but she only blinked disinterestedly at him. "You'll get your fair share of the profits, and you can use the money for charity, or teddy bears for orphans, or… whatever else it is your warm, fuzzy heart desires."

She arched an eyebrow. "Thrilling," she commented in bored tones.

He huffed. "The factories will also speed up the production of goods and provide jobs in the cities, blah, blah, blah, and all that."

"You're not a very good salesman."

"Well forgive me for being new at this!"

"Look, you're going to have to do a lot better than that to persuade me to give you anything. Quite frankly, after having you betray me twice and try a third time, I would much rather see your head on a pike. You're lucky I'm even listening to this proposal of yours." She leaned back and folded her arms across her stomach, taking on a strict expression she usually wore when punishing her children. This did not sit well with Reaver, who fought to keep from bristling, and in turn, Maegan had to fight to keep from laughing.

"What do you want from me?" he asked, scowling again.

"Just how important is this to you, Reaver? Hm? What are you willing to do to get it?"

His emerald green eyes narrowed. "That depends… What are you planning?"

The queen only grinned.

The queen watched as the handsome scoundrel pursed his lips in thought, considering her offer. She didn't know why she had proposed such a thing to him-she had no idea whether or not he would uphold his end of the bargain. It was a precious thing to gamble, but too precious not to lay on the table.

"Very well," Reaver finally sighed, extending a hand to his new business partner. "I accept."

Maegan smiled happily. "I will set up ways to ensure that you will do as you promised."

He rolled his eyes at her warning and stood indignantly from his seat. "I'm a big boy, dove…" Then he stopped and looked at her in confusion. "Do you… hear something?"

As if on cue, the door burst open and Sir Walter Beck and some ten soldiers tumbled forth, pouring into the room and swarming about like bees in a hive. Startled, Maegan leapt to her feet and Reaver whirled, his gun aimed at Walter in a blink of an eye.

"No, don't!" the queen cried, grabbing the pirate by the arm.

A shot rang out. The bullet embedded itself harmlessly in the floor, but it was enough to issue forth a wave of chaos. With a shout, Walter took the opportunity to dash forward, landing a punch in Reaver's gut and wrenching him from Maegan's grip as they tumbled to the floor. The Dragonstomper went flying and each knight, adorned with purple and silver, immediately had their rifles trained on the two men, waiting for an opening to kill the pirate.

"STOP!" Maegan shrieked, just as Walter punched Reaver three times in the ribs and twice in the nose, to which the pirate retaliated by kneeing the general in the groin. She tried to pull the men off of each other, shouting to the knights, "Don't shoot!"

Walter allowed himself to be pulled to his feet and then turned in confusion to his queen. "My lady-"

"It's alright, Walter. He's my business partner." she replied, kneeling to help Reaver sit up. He coughed, blood oozing from his nose and mouth, and cringed at having to move.

"Business partner?" Walter sputtered, bewildered. "He's a pirate!"

"No, he _was_ a pirate. Now he's my business partner. Now go, all of you. I'll talk with you later, Walter."

"But I-"

"Go."

The general hesitated, his thick mustache twitching in deliberation, before stalking back into the hall. Grumbling, his knights followed him out, some of them casting angry glances back at the pirate who had stolen their chance at protecting their queen.

"Some watch dog you've got," Reaver groaned, glowering up at the retreating figure of the hulking general with hatred and disdain. "Works every muscle except his brain. Please tell me that our little agreement does not mean that I will have to _work_ with him…"

"Only sparingly," the queen softed, handing him a handkerchief.

"Thanks," he mumbled. He winced as he pressed the cloth to his nose. It was almost immediately died a deep crimson. He grimaced. "Crap."

"It's alright, I've got plenty." The queen rose to stand. "I should probably go fetch the doctor…"

He stumbled to his feet and grabbed her by the wrist before she could leave. "No, it'd be better if you didn't. It's not bad; looks worse more than anything."

"You can't go around with a bloody nose, Reaver. No woman or man in Bowerstone will ever look at you ever again."

He smirked. "Oh, I don't know about that… I have my ways, you know."

The queen snorted. "Yeah, well, you'll get light headed anyway. Just let me get a doctor. It'll only take a few minutes, and then you can leave, alright?"

Reaver gave her a scowl. "I can take care of myself."

"Says the man who nearly got his head blown off."

"Only because you stopped me from-"

"From killing my general and my knights, yes. Oh, bad Maegan. Very bad."

With a huff, he pushed past her. "Whatever, I'm leaving."

"Alright. See you later, partner," she called, watching him as he stalked down the hall and out of sight. "Oh, and should I be surprised when I hear reports of the guards finding someone passed out in an alley?" Having received no response, she scoffed and shook her head, righting one of the chairs that had been toppled in the skirmish. "Bloody idiot."

**A/N: **I'm not fully satisfied with this chapter, but it will have to do for now. Hope you all enjoy it! :D


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: A quick warning to you all-both this chapter and the next are very sad, perhaps even depressing. There is some character death and a lot of emotions flying everywhere, so ye be warned.**

**These two chapters were originally one, but it ended up being so long that I had to split it into two pieces. It'll be easier to read this way, and maybe even easier to read through some of the heart-ache parts.**

**Also, please let me know how I'm doing; I've never written emotional scenes before, and so this one was quite difficult for me. Please tell me where I've got stuff to work on and what's good as is. Thanks muchly!**

_Disclaimer: I own nothing._

The Prelude

Part Three

**Two Years Later**

It had all been… so unexpected.

The Queen of Albion stared as the four coffins were lowered into the mausoleum. One of them was marginally smaller than the rest, and it made her heart wrench at the sight. Fresh tears sprang to her eyes, but she would not let them fall, not now, when so many on-lookers regarded their queen with both pity and expectance.

Richard was also stoic, but his hand was wrapped around hers, squeezing at times, trembling at others. His eyes, like hers, were swollen with two days worth of weeping, and they now held a glazed, despondent look to them. Maegan had to choke back a sob. He looked so much like his father, so much so that it both hurt and soothed her aching heart to look at him. She looked away before another fountain of pain could burst forth.

Every part of her wanted to scream, to leap into the graves, uncover the caskets and beg their lifeless bodies to return to life. She wanted to tear her hair out, to curse the heavens, to be struck down then and there so that she could join the majority of her family and rest in peace, free of heartache and sorrow.

But a little hiccup came from her side, and she was reminded of why she had to stay. Logan and little Elena stood to her right, the first in a shocked sort of silence and the latter's face streaked with salty wetness and little body wracked with sobs. How could she want to leave them, when they were hurting just as much as she was? They needed her, and she needed them.

A sudden wave of guilt came over her, and she ran her fingers through her youngest son's raven locks. He turned his head to look up at her, stony faced, with not a tear shed since that fateful night. For him, the queen felt the worst of all. What could he have seen that had stunned him into three days' silence? How horrible must he have felt, having been the only one to survive?

"I'm so sorry," she whispered to him, the carefully built dam breaking and letting the tears finally cascade down her sallow cheeks. "I'm so sorry, Logan."

He gazed back up at her with unreadable blue eyes, silent as the grave his father's and sibling's coffins were being lowered into.

It must have been horrible, indeed.

**Three Days Prior**

The queen bit back a giggle as Angela ran about elatedly, her twin brother laughing along with her, sharing in her excitement.

"We're going to the theater! We're gonna see an OPRETA!" the girl sang, and Richard clucked his tongue.

"It's 'opera,' you silly girl. And calm yourself or you'll be asleep for most of the show!"

"It's probably best that she gets most of her energy out now," Anne interjected politely. "So she won't squirm through the entire thing. Most of Mama and Papa's peers will be there, and it would be a terrible thing to upset them."

Martin shook his head disapprovingly at both of his siblings. "She's just a child-let her have her fun! Lord knows how boring these things are, anyway." Then he directed his attention to his mother, whose restrained smile still showed even now. "What are you smirking at, Mum?"

"All of you. You are all adorable, no matter what the age," Maegan replied from her seat on the sofa. She sighed. "I did a good job raising you."

"If you don't say so yourself!"

"I did say so myself." Martin laughed as Logan made his way to his mother's side. He rest a hand on her arm in a silent request to enter into the conversation. He was always so formal, Maegan had to wonder exactly how Walter was training him differently than her other sons. "Yes, Logan, what is it?"

"Why won't you come with us, Mother?" he asked softly, tilting his head to one side. "You always seem so excited when you and Father go to the Opera."

"I'm afraid I've got far too many things to do, dear. Besides, someone needs to watch Elena while everyone is gone."

"Oh," Dean's voice wafted in from the next room. A moment later, he entered, groaning as he popped his back, which had been giving him an increasing number of problems as of late. "Always the dutiful mother, my love. Come, have a night of fun. The nursemaids can take care of the little one for a while. And Richard will be here to keep an eye on things."

"I will not leave her alone when she's sick in bed with a cold," she returned, drawing herself up haughtily. "I am a mother before anything else. I intend to act like one, no matter what my station. And I told you before, Richard won't be here."

The young man in question cleared his throat, a heated blush rising to his cheeks. "I, um, have a date with Letty tonight. I've been planning this for weeks now, and since this whole opera business was an on-the-fly sort of thing…"

"Alright, alright," the older gentleman said, raising his hands up in submission, though he did look exceedingly disappointed. "Suit yourselves. Can't say it will be the same without you, though."

The queen's features softened and she stood, making her way to her husband to plant a loving kiss on his cheek. "We will go to the opera next week, just you and me. When Elena is better and I am not so swamped with work."

"You're always swamped with work," he pouted.

"Then I'll set it aside. I promise. But now all of you need to get going, or you'll be late." She swept across the room, the trails of her gown flowing as she moved, and began helping Angela into her neglected coat. "You need to put it on dear; you'll catch cold otherwise. Is Elena not example enough for you?"

"But it's itchy!" she complained, stomping her feet as she grudgingly allowed her mother to slip her tiny arms into the garment's sleeves.

Martin clasped a hand upon Richard's shoulder and gave him a little shake. "Good luck, my brother! Don't forget the ring!"

Richard's blush deepened. "I won't… Thanks."

His younger brother winked. "Rooting for you, buddy!" And then he turned and filed out of the room behind the others. Their mother went with them to see them to the door, and was then to likely go check up on little Elena after they had left, leaving Richard alone in the study.

The little piece of jewelry in his pocket made his heart beat like thunder in his chest, but it made Maegan's soar with a motherly pride.

She returned soon enough, though her face was slightly creased in worry. She sat down at her desk, regarding the papers upon it, but not really seeing them. "She keeps coughing."

"She'll be fine, Mum," Richard replied, with an inward sigh of relief. He didn't want to be alone with his thoughts any longer than necessary, lest he get cold feet. "She's a trooper."

"I know, but it worries me."

"Those look like blueprints," he said, changing the subject of conversation to a rather large piece of paper on top of his mother's desk. It was buried under numerous other important documents, but a corner of it was easy to see. "What are you building? Does that say 'Hollow Men' or-?"

No sooner than the words left his mouth, his mother slammed a heavy tome down upon the offending corner of paper. "Renovations to the Brightwall Academy. And other things. Nothing of extreme importance."

"Then why are you trying to hide it?" he pried, attempting to move the book, but she lightly slapped his hand away. "Well?"

She gave him a secretive little smile before standing smoothly and looking pointedly at him. "I believe Miss Letty is waiting for you to ask her a certain question. It would be a shame to keep her waiting for too long, don't you think?"

He pursed his lips. "Now you're just trying to get rid of me!"

"Hardly," she replied, kissing his cheek lovingly. "Now go on, before she gets too impatient."

He gulped. "Do you… Do you think she knows?"

"Women always know-it's instinct. Now go."

Nodding, he disappeared down the hall, fixing his black hair as he went. The queen couldn't help but smile. Her son was a man now, and every bit like his father. She remembered when Dean purposed to her, how he had been so nervous all the day before that she knew precisely what was to come next, how he had nearly dropped the ring, his hands were so shaky. She wished Richard the best of luck, and nerves of steal. Letty, she knew, was not one to find nervousness as an endearing quirk.

With a sigh, she turned back to her desk, removing the tome and unearthing the blueprints her son had been so keen on seeing for himself. What she had told him had been true, if only in part. They were indeed renovations to be made to the Academy, but to its Reliquary in particular. The place was more or less a cave where the librarian kept old books, most of them having magical properties. It would suit her purposes perfectly.

She bit her lip as she went over the plans. Perhaps she should cut down on all of the monsters. She didn't want this test of Strength, Will, and Skill to be too dangerous, after all. It was only a test, and her own daughter would be running through it many years into the future. On the other hand, Elena was a Hero-or would be, at any rate, and she would need to go through some sort of challenge to prove her worth as such. If anybody with a sword or hammer in hand could pass through these caverns, then it would hardly be much of a test for a Hero at all.

She shook her head and lay the blueprints flat upon the desk. No, the plans were fine-she had gone through something similar when protecting Hammer on their first meeting, and she had only just left the nest, as it were.

Sitting down again, she began to sift through her other papers, signing her name on some, rejecting others. It was easy enough work, but she had been at it for most of the day prior, and was weary. Perhaps it would have been a good idea to go to the opera, to let herself relax. It was too late now, though, and she was left to her devices in the silence of the room.

The castle itself was still quite alive with noise, despite the late hour. The queen could hear the familiar voices and sounds of the working servants, the guards making idle conversation outside her door, the chime of a grandfather clock somewhere on the floor below. It sang the hour: eight o'clock. Dean and the children would be arriving at the theater by now.

A small cough brought her attention to the small figure in the doorway. Elena stood there, her hand on the doorknob, looking miserable with her red nose and watery eyes. "Mama," she whined, and then she sneezed. Her little black curls bounced at the movement, though they were limp compared to their usual volume.

Maegan stood and swiftly moved to her daughter, scooping her up into her arms as she spoke, "Elena, darling, what are you doing out of bed? It's late, and you need your sleep." She hefted the girl up a bit, for she was at the age when being held in such a way was bordering on the impossible. "Don't you want to get well?"

"I can't sleep," the little girl moaned, resting her head upon her mother's shoulder. "My throat hurts and my eyes itch."

"I know, darling," the queen cooed, petting her daughter's hair and rocking her back and forth. "Being sick is no fun at all. I'll tell you what: I'll come up and tuck you in, and I'll lay with you until you fall asleep, okay?"

Elena nodded, her watery blue eyes smiling tiredly as she did so. A cough rattled in her tortured throat, and her mother winced. It was so hard to see her child suffer; she hated it when any of her children were hurting, because as a mother, she shared in their pain.

She took Elena up to the royal bed chambers instead of the nursery, tucking the child in to her own bed and lying upon the sheets beside her. Dean wouldn't mind-he worried for her also, and she didn't take up too much room on the king-sized mattress.

The queen ran her fingers through the girl's short black locks, humming a soft tune as her daughter dozed. It didn't take long for Elena to succumb to sleep, and soon her mother joined her in its embrace, her song slowly dying on her lips.


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: A continuation of the last chapter. This one has a lot more angst in it than the last. Ye be warned.**

_Disclaimer: I own nothing._

The Prelude

Part Four

It seemed as though it had only been a moment before her eyes flew open and her hand was on her pistol in its holster. She had been awakened by a sudden presence in the room, and she whipped about to see just who stood at her end of the bed. She relaxed slightly at seeing the silhouette of Sir Walter Beck in the darkness, but her guard was back up when his worried, hushed whispers reached her ear.

"My lady," he hissed, a hand on her shoulder. "There's been an attack-a bomb-your family-"

Immediately, she was on her feet, her heart pounding as if to break out of her ribcage as she pulled the soldier out into the hall. "What's happened, Walter?" she questioned, trying to force out the quiver in her voice.

"A crowd had gathered to watch the royal carriage pass, you know. And someone… Someone threw an explosive-"

She whirled about to face him, fighting to remain calm and losing the battle horribly. "What about my family, Walter?"

He hesitated, and it was as if something inside her snapped. She screamed, making many of the passer-by servants jump half way out of their skins. Walter's hands were soon placed upon her shoulders as he tried to calm her down; he spoke urgently, but soothingly, "I don't know, Your Majesty. One of the soldiers guarding the carriage at the time came and gave me the news. He didn't know if anyone else survived. But I'm sure they're alright." He paused, looking around. "Where's Prince Richard?"

"He went out to ask his girlfriend to marry him," she replied, understanding where this was going. "My… You don't think that-"

As if to answer her question, he turned to one of the soldiers in the hall. "Find the prince. He may be in danger as well."

The guard nodded and darted off, stopping only to get a few more men to follow him.

Maegan felt that she was going to be sick. The world spun around her, her vision blurred. It was only Walter's hands that kept her from collapsing to the floor in a sobbing heap. "I need to go to my family," she heard herself say in a hollow voice. "I have to know if… if they're alright."

"You can't, my lady; it's too dangerous."

"I'm the queen and I'll do whatever I please!" she snapped, determination shoving her weakness aside. "I must see my family!"

Walter was silent for a moment, his jaw flexing beneath his beard. His dark eyes held both sympathy and stubbornness. But what was his word against that of the queen? "…Very well, madam…But allow me to come with you, for safety's sake."

Without a moment's hesitation, she picked up her skirts and ran. After a moment, the heavy foot-falls of his military boots announced his pursuit. He caught up with her easily, but did not make an effort to stop her, and he took her silence as permission to escort her to the place of the attack.

They were soon running on the lawn towards the stables. There was a flicker of orange light down in the city; it was close by-the smoke could even be seen engulfing one of the houses in Bowerstone Market. "They are far from the theater," she commented as she saddled the first horse she'd come to.

"They were on their way home, Your Majesty."

"What's the hour?"

"Nearly eleven."

"It's far passed the children's bedtime."

He did not reply, but gave her a silent, worried look before mounting his own steed. She ignored this, urging her horse straight into a gallop and forcing their conversation to a close.

It was not hard to find the sight. All that had to be done was to follow the screams and the tell-tale smell of smoke and heat. The horses galloped on, gaining speed as their riders urged them onward. Maegan's heart rate matched the pounding of the hoofs upon the cobblestone streets, rapid and border-line random.

She thought that perhaps she should have been angry that someone had the gall to try to murder her family, but all she could feel was the overwhelming fear that they had been successful in their endeavor, and the hope that she was wrong. Walter could almost see the struggle his queen was going through, and a part of him shared in her pain. He had trained the boys and protected the girls all their lives-they were like family to him. He was scared as much as she was, but his calm, urgent exterior had to hold. For both of their sakes.

The queen was off of her horse and running as soon as the carriage came into sight, before Walter could make an effort to stop her. Her aging body might have protested, but if it had, she took no notice. All that mattered was finding her family and ensuring their safety. It never occurred to her as to what she would do if they hadn't made it.

There were other people, frightened but wanting to help, running towards the scene. There were unintelligible shouts, even a couple of shots fired from a gun, though who or what it was directed at Maegan didn't know. Her fear began to mount, growing with every step she took, with every cry she heard.

There were soldiers trying to keep the amassing crowd at bay, but they let her through with only a slight hesitation. One asked if she was sure she really wanted to see. She passed by him without a word.

They all lay on the ground in a row. Someone out of common decency had covered each of their faces with a kerchief; she didn't need to take them off to know who lie beneath them, or the fact that one was missing.

It took her a moment to realize that she was screaming their names, over and over, and it took a moment more for her to notice Walter's arms restraining her from running to them and ripping off the kerchief-masks. She wasn't really aware of what she was saying, or the fact that she had turned and started punching her general in the face and chest. He managed to hold on, despite her Heroic strength and the pain he undoubtedly felt in his chest and jaw, and he was saying something, shouting. She didn't hear any of it.

"Where is Logan?" she cried, ignoring all of his attempts to quiet her. "_Where's my son?_"

Her strength suddenly left her, and her violence ceased. Instead she clung to the bear of a man, her body now limp and wracked with screaming sobs. He held her, his restraining arms now holding her in a comforting embrace. "I'm… so sorry."

"Where is he?" she sobbed into his coat. "He's not here; where is he?"

"I don't know," he replied hoarsely. "I don't know, but we'll find him. Come on, we'll look for him together."

Unable to support her own weight, she continued to cling to him, her right hand clutching his right as tightly as humanly possible. She trembled almost violently as they walked, and she was tempted to look back at the four corpses she was leaving behind. Instead, she buried her face in Walter's shoulder and shut her eyes tight. Perhaps if she told herself it was all a dream it would all go away. Perhaps it wasn't real-it was all some cruel, sick joke.

No. No, this was real. And she needed to find her son.

She breathed his name, reminding herself why she was here. If there was any chance at all that her son was alive, she would do what she could to find him.

Walter's hand squeezed hers almost excitedly. "I think I see… Yes! There he is!" And he pointed to a small alleyway, slightly lit up by the light of the fires.

The boy had somehow managed to climb up onto a part of the wall that jutted out from the side of one of the houses, his left arm cradled against his chest, his face cut and bleeding profusely. He was dirty, his face and clothes smudged with blood and soot. His blue eyes were wide with shock and fear; he looked like a trapped and wounded animal.

Maegan's arms ached to hold him, to make sure that he was real, to ensure herself that he was alive. She broke away from Walter's side, her arms outstretched for her child. "Logan," she called, "Logan, come to me!"

He hesitated, as if trying to determine whether or not it was a trick, and then he leapt off of the wall and ran into his mother's arms. Her relief manifested itself in the way of tears and the showering of kisses. She held him close, petting his hair and making him vow never to leave her side again. He simply clung desperately to her with his one good arm, his shoulders trembling though no tears stung his eyes.

Walter watched for a moment before kneeling beside the boy, gently touching his side to get his attention. "Logan, let me have a look at you. There's a good lad." Logan obediently turned to face him, though he still pressed himself to his mother's side, unwilling to leave her. His mentor's fingers gently prodded his left arm, and he squeaked in pain, jerking back, out of reach. "Looks like it's broken. And those cuts need to be tended to as well. He's lucky that's all that happened to him."

The queen nodded, squeezing her son's good shoulder. "When I say close your eyes, do so, alright?"

The young prince didn't reply, and when his mother and Walter tried to coax him out into the open, he instead backed further into the alley. Maegan bit her lip to keep from crying-of course he didn't want to go back out there, where he knew his family's bodies lay broken in the street.

Her second in command cast her a side-ways glance, a silent request for permission. She returned it with a nod, and he stepped forward, kneeling once more before her son. "Logan, I know you're scared. I am too, but your mother and I won't let anything happen to you. We promise."

The boy offered little in the ways of a reaction to his words, and Walter sent another look the queen's way. She didn't know what else to do but join him at his side. Her throat had run dry by this point, and she could not find the words to say that would comfort the lad. She needed a great deal of comforting herself.

"You want to get out of here, don't you, Logan? You want to go home," Walter questioned softly. Dumbly, the boy nodded once, casting his fearful gaze on the scene over his mentor's shoulder. Walter quickly moved his head so as to obstruct the boy's view. "But you don't want to go back out there. I understand. Here's what we'll do: I'll carry you back to the castle, and you'll close your eyes as tight as you can. Sound good?"

Logan looked questioningly up at his mother, and finally her throat loosened as she managed, "I'll be right there with you, love." Silently, she wished that she could have been the one to carry him rather than Walter, but she knew that she was in no condition to haul a twelve-year-old boy around like she could his younger sister. Especially now, when her legs were weak and she felt like she could pass out in a moment's notice.

She watched as Walter scooped her son up into his arms, and was instantly reminded of a scene from months passed, when Dean had done the same to little Angela while at a picnic. He had swung her around, and she had spread out her arms like a bird in flight, happy as a clam. The rest of the family had laughed and cheered, munching on whatever goodies the cooks had packed for them.

Maegan shook herself out of her reverie, finding fresh tears upon her cheeks. Now was not the time for fond memories-they hurt more than they healed, and right now, Logan needed her attention.

She followed Walter, her eyes on her son the entire time. He kept his face buried in his mentor's shoulder, and never once did he look up until he was told that it was safe to open his eyes. She herself did not dare look around, even as they passed by the still forms of half of her family. Instead she took in her son's expression, the planes of his face, and soon his eyes traveled to lock with hers.

The castle soon loomed ahead of them. It seemed both welcoming and sorrowful, for though they longed for home, it wasn't the same.

It would never be the same.

There came a shout, and the queen looked up to find her eldest son running pell-mell across the lawn, coming upon them fast. His eyes were wide as saucers and filled with fear and unasked questions. "Mum!" he cried, barely slowing down in time before he collided with her. He took her almost roughly by the shoulders. "Mum, tell me it isn't true. What I heard-what they told me-it isn't true. Martin and Anne, Dad and Angie, they're… They're alright, aren't they?"

Of course, had he possessed any form of logic then, which no one really did, he would have known the answer simply by looking around and taking note of half of his family's absence, or by the expression his mother wore. But in his worry and grief, he asked the questions anyway, bringing the image of the broken bodies to the forefront of the queen's mind.

No words came to answer him. It was all Maegan could do to hang her head and lean on her son for support, the fountain that gushed from her eyes staining his shirt with salty water. He paled and stumbled back slightly, though he still held her tightly by the shoulders.

"I don't know about this, Your Majesty," Walter gently prodded. "It's too soon."

Jasper, whose graying black hair was uncharacteristically messy due to the long and depressing night prior, cleared his throat. "If I may say so, you do look rather unwell. Which is to be expected after what has happened, of course, but don't you think that you should get some rest, perhaps?"

Maegan stood on shaky legs, staring into the crackling fire on the hearth. The study had always been a place of some abhorrence for her, but now, for reasons unknown to her, she had ran to it for comfort. With a shiver, she pulled her shawl tighter about her, and said nothing.

"I can understand your reasoning," Walter sighed. "I would want to put the man on trial straight away, too. I'd have his head and stick it on a pike, if it were me… But-"

"I'm fine. My hatred for him gives me strength," she hissed, her eyes narrowing into a glare as she turned and walked towards the table where her crown sat. She stared at it for a moment, almost with loathing, before placing it smartly upon her brow. Then, without sparing them a glance, she marched out of the study and away from the two concerned men. "Keep Logan and Elena from entering the throne room."

She couldn't see them, but she knew that they were exchanging worried looks. She didn't care. Today she was a different person-she was no longer Maegan Monroe, loyal wife of Dean Monroe and doting mother of six. She was little Sparrow, vengeful Sparrow; angry widow and despondent mother of three.

This burning hatred, this thirst for revenge was distantly familiar to her. Memories flooded her mind of the crazed Lord Lucien holding a gun to her head as he casually told her that he had killed her family, of the sight of her sister Rose falling dead at her feet, and of the wish that brought them all back. It had all been for naught. Her family, or at least half of it, had been torn from her again. It was like whatever gods out there had decided to see how many times they could rip out her heart and put it back in before she went insane. But she had gotten her revenge on Lucien with one, faithful bullet. She expected no less this time.

There was a hush within the throne room. Even the townspeople who had come to observe her decision were in black either out of personal mourning for her loss, or simply out of respect for the dead. She herself still wore the same muddy and soot-stained clothes from the night before, having been too over-come with grief to even think about her appearance. No one seemed to care or take notice.

Richard stood beside the throne, his face stern despite the fact that he had obviously been crying, and his princely attire had been dyed a somber black for the occasion. At the foot of the steps leading up to the royal seat were two soldiers, their rifles pointed at the hunched over, chained individual on the floor.

He had dirty mouse-brown hair and his clothes-once clean and pressed-were torn and soiled by mud, blood, and other unclean things. He had been beaten pretty badly, so told by his swollen left eye, broken nose, missing front teeth in a mouth that hung open as if a door on one hinge, and his fingers having been bent in directions they most certainly were not supposed to go. He raised his head as soon as the queen stepped into the room, and immediately he began to babble and beg, as if he knew his life would soon be cut short. Which it most certainly would be.

His words came out slurred and broken due to a jaw that refused to work properly, but the gist of it was, "No-please-I beg you! I didn't want to do it! I-I-I-I'm sorry-I'm sorry-"

"Shut it!" the left-hand guard snarled, and he bashed the blubbering man's face with the butt of his rifle. The killer reared back and then fell forward, soft sobs escaping his lips.

Feeling no sympathy whatsoever for the man that lay bleeding upon the carpet, the queen continued walking passed him and up to her throne, pausing to kiss Richard comfortingly on the cheek before sitting down. It wasn't long before the man started up again.

"Please, I-I'm Arthur Wellington-"

"You're the man who killed my husband and three of my children. I could care less what your name is." She leaned forward menacingly. "I honestly don't know why this silly little trial is being held. I would much rather just kill you and leave it at that, but I suppose that would make me a murderer like you. You see, when I want someone dead, I do it the legal way."

But Arthur continued on, "There's a conspiracy against you, m'lady-I got dragged into it, I did. Unwilling, I was, had no reason to kill you! But they threatened to kill me if I didn't-"

"So four people, one of them only twelve years old," her voice cracked at the thought of little Angela cut down in the flower of her youth, but she plowed on, "died to save your sorry arse, is that what you're telling me?" He fell silent at her words, staring up at her with an unreadable expression on his face. "_IS THAT WHAT YOU ARE TELLING ME, ARTHUR?"_

He squeaked as she rose from her chair. "I CAN GIVE YOU NAMES! LOTS OF NAMES!"

"You are a coward and a dog, Arthur Wellington, and you'll die like one!" she seethed, blood rushing to her face as she howled at him. Her hatred for the man had doubled-no, tripled since the moment she'd seen him. How dare he beg for forgiveness? How dare he try and bribe her with names? "You can keep your bloody names!"

Name after obscure name tumbled from the man's mouth as the guards began to drag him away. It was as if he was shouting the alphabet. "JOSEPH ABNER, PENNY BENSON, JIMMY CARLTON!"

"Wait," Richard said, then more loudly, "WAIT!"

The soldiers came to a halt, and Arthur quieted, staring hopefully up at the young man. Every eye turned to regard the prince with curiosity and even slight suspicion, until he said, "Tell me the name of the one who ordered you to throw that bomb."

The bloodied man hemmed and hawed for a moment, as if trying to judge whether or not it would be wise to give such precious information, or in the more likely case, trying to come up with a convincing name to give. "He…he calls himself Matthias. Able Matthias."

"That name is unfamiliar to me," Richard replied after a short pause.

"It should be," his mother growled. "Because he probably doesn't exist."

He spared her a glance before nodding towards the guards. "Proceed."

Arthur's face, once so filled with hope, crumbled at that one, single word. He howled and screamed, ranted and raved like a madman. He was giving the soldiers so much trouble, Maegan half expected them to shoot him right there in the hall. But then the doors slammed shut, and eventually his cries faded to nothing.

The crowd murmured softly as the onlookers dispersed, and some bravely gave their condolences to their queen and future king before swiftly shuffling out of the large room through one of the side doors. Neither mother nor son moved or spoke until the last of them had left, at which point Richard lay a hand on his mother's shoulder.

"It's over-he's gone. The soldiers will be burying him soon."

She stood, chewing her lower lip. "I was… expecting him to be… different."

"More of the evil sort?"

"More of the… revolutionary sort."

"Me too. I think there might be some truth to his story about this…Able fellow."

She frowned. "The man was a fool, a coward."

Her son shrugged half-heartedly. "Fools and cowards tell the truth when faced with death, more often than not. If they think there is any chance they might be spared, they'll say anything. At any rate, it can't hurt to look into it, right?"

"I…suppose not." At least it would get his mind off of things, to a point. At least he would have some form of hope to hold on to, unlike her. "I am going to lay down, try to get some rest." She felt so… drained. Like all life had bled from her and left her body a withered, dry husk. And something told her that no amount of sleep would fix it.

The rest of the day passed on at a crawl. The castle, which had been so full of laughter and warmth, was now silent and cold, unbearable. Logan never said a word, Richard shut himself up in the study, and Elena came to her mother to lay in her arms, and quietly cry herself to sleep. It was like an out-of-body experience-nothing felt quite real, and yet it was painfully clear that this was no dream. Sometimes, Maegan would collapse into a sobbing fit, and other times she would silently stare at nothing in particular. She felt as though she were slowly losing her grasp on reality, and that by the end of the day she would have gone completely insane. Jasper took on the task of preparing for the burial, knowing full well that her majesty the queen was in no condition and hardly possessed the will to do so herself.

And now, she somehow found herself standing in the garden, watching her loved ones' coffins as they were interred within the family tomb. The sun shone and the birds chirped, unaffected by the tragedy that had turned four souls' lives a dismal shade of gray. It seemed as though the world was unfeeling; no one really cared that the sky had come crashing down.

"I'm so sorry… I'm so sorry, Logan."

The boy stared up at his mother for a moment, as though he did not fully comprehend what she was saying. Then little Elena's hand snuck into his own, and she sniffed, "I still love you, you know." She buried her little face in his arm as if to cry, though she continued very evenly, "So…Please stop thinking it's your fault."

He surprised his mother by turning his back on the funeral and gathering his little sister into his arms and holding her close. He mumbled a soft "thank you" into her curly black hair, let her go, and then turned back to the ceremony, his hand gripping Elena's tiny one. The moment was so small and insignificant that it went unnoticed by most of the small crowd, but the queen smiled inwardly.

Yes, this was the reason why she had to stay-her three remaining children were the light of the future, each a shining beacon of hope for the other. It was time that she lived by their example.


	5. Chapter 5

**Disclaimer: I own nothing.**

The Prelude

Part Five

It did not take long before Richard realized that his hunt for Able Matthias was going to be more difficult than he had anticipated. He didn't even know where to begin his search; he could ask around about the man's whereabouts, but that would raise the risk of being detected, and he didn't know how Matthias would react. It could all end in violence, and his plans for revenge would go up in smoke.

For the first two weeks after the assassination, he holed himself up in the study, pacing and pouring over strategic journals that may have held detailed accounts of similar situations. He took council with Walter often, but his mentor only voiced his dislike for the whole endeavor.

"You're either with me or against me, Walter," Richard stated one such morning, snapping shut a small, thin tome that had been of little use to him. "I don't like this situation any more than you do."

"I'm just saying that vengeance won't bring them back."

"This isn't about vengeance!" the younger man snapped. He slammed the book down on the desk with a hollow 'smack' and seethed. He couldn't bring himself to look his mentor in the eye as he went on, "Those people—that man that tried to kill my entire family is still out there. He could try again; maybe not now, maybe not until a few years down the road, when everything has calmed down, but he could strike again. This isn't about vengeance—this is about protecting what I have left."

"Hm." Walter ran a hand over his growing beard, and then through his short, graying hair. "I understand. Just think of your mother, though—she's so distraught already. I'm afraid of what it would do to her to bury another child-"

"I'm not going to die, Walter," Richard snorted.

"You don't know that; you can never know for sure."

"You're either with me or against me, Walter. Which is it?"

The rain pounded harsh against the windowpane, punctuating the silence that now wafted around the room. Walter's jaw flexed and tightened beneath his beard, and for a moment, Richard was afraid of what he might say. But then the aging man gave a small sigh.

"What am I supposed to do, abandon you?" He chuckled mirthlessly, shaking his head. "We both know that's never going to happen. I'm by your side—always."

The boy smiled. "I know. Now, back to business…"

"Have you ever thought of going undercover?"

"Too risky. Besides, I'm the prince—everyone knows my face."

"That's why when you go undercover you wear a disguise."

"Don't be cheeky, Walter. Besides, what good would it do? We still have no idea where to start looking, and using knights to forcibly acquire the information would only send Matthias further into hiding, and we're likely to get false information, anyway."

Silence fell again and Richard went about his business of trying to find another possibly unhelpful book to flip through. Walter watched from his spot in front of the large mahogany desk for a long while before the boy looked up at him with slight surprise.

"You're still here."

The larger man brushed aside the comment with one of his own: "It just occurred to me that I never have taken you on a tour of Industrial."

Richard wrinkled his nose, his blue eyes holding something akin to disgust at the very thought. "That's where Reaver has built his factories. I can see the smoke rising from the stacks if I look out my window. I can just imagine the whole place covered in soot—why would anyone want to go there?"

Walter laughed at that. "Oh, your mother would never let it get so bad as that. She co-owns those same factories, remember?"

"Yes, well, you know that I never approved of her decision to accept that bilge-rat's offer."

"I think it's time you saw it." At Richard's still hesitant expression, he offered, "You may get some ideas on how to find your missing man."

The prince considered it. He didn't know how taking a stroll through the poorest district in Bowerstone would help with much of anything, but he knew that twinkle in his mentor's eyes. Walter knew what he was doing; he had a plan, which was more than what Richard could say for himself.

"Alright. I trust you. But I'm taking a bath straight afterwards."

***FABLE*III***

Elena was a very intuitive child, but it didn't take intuition to know that everyone in the castle was upset. Her mother rarely ate; she was starting to look pale and wan, and the gray hairs on her head were beginning to stand out more than ever. Mama was sad, and Elena knew why.

She was still too young to fully understand the concept of death, but she knew that most of her family wasn't ever going to come home again. It made her upset, too.

She missed Papa, with his scratchy, stubbly beard and constant smile. She missed Anne and Martin, who always knew how to make her smile, and she missed Angela, the only one who really knew how to lift Logan's spirits. But they were all gone now, so their job of making everyone happy fell to her.

Happiness, however, seemed out of reach for everyone in the castle. Even Jasper and the other servants were slow to do their work, their eyes swollen from tears and energy sapped from lack of will to do much else but cry. The air of mourning was thick and heavy, and little Elena could see that everyone was suffocating.

So, when the rain lightened and the clouds parted, she didn't hesitate on tugging on her brother's trousers. "Logan, the rain's gone! Let's go out and play!"

Despite his own grief and pain, in the weeks since the majority of his family's deaths, Logan had never once denied his little sister anything. The two had clung to each other for support, and it was clear that he felt some sort of responsibility for her care, as if she were the last thing he had to hold on to, even though he still had his mother and elder brother as well. Besides, giving her someone to play with gave his mind a break from pain, and allowed him to enjoy himself and forget his worries.

But today was different. He was more tense than usual, and he responded to Elena's request with a simple, "It's muddy outside."

"That's the best part," the girl countered, and she caught sight of his lips, now marred slightly by a long, vertical scar, quirking upwards in a secret smile. Her little plan was working, it seemed. "And it's sunny!"

"Wouldn't you rather stay inside and play with your dolls, or something?"

"No, not really. I wanna play outside with you."

Logan cast his eyes upward with a silent plea to the heavens. "I don't want to play today, Elena."

"Why not?"

"Because," he began, searching for something to answer her with, "because I'm reading."

"That's boring."

He snorted. "Is not."

"Why don't you read outside while I play?" Elena compromised, tilting her head to one side the way a dog would when questioning a certain sound.

"Because it's wet and muddy and cold—I don't want to go outside, Elena."

She huffed, crossing her little arms over her little chest. "Fine! I'll just go by myself!" And then she stormed out of their room and down the hall, her tiny feet slamming angrily against the floor with every step she took.

Again, Logan turned his gaze to the ceiling. Dear Avo, why couldn't he have just a moment's peace? He sighed. It wouldn't be wise to allow his sister to go outside unattended. Especially if she were to run about in the mud; she could slip and fall.

But he was worried about his mother. She did not look at all well, and he wanted to be there for her should she need for anything. It was the least he could do. After all, it was his fault she had lost so much that night. If only he had told Father about the man he'd seen before the opera had begun, then none of this would have happened. But he had dismissed what he had seen and kept silent, and now he had lost almost everything.

He wanted to admit his guilt, to tell his mother what had really happened, but he was afraid of what she might have said. He didn't want her to hate him like he hated himself, even though he was sure that he deserved the hatred of the entire kingdom.

What could he do, but watch his mother suffer in silence? He didn't know how to comfort her, he didn't know what words to say. He wished he could go to Richard for guidance, but the two had never been close due to Logan's shy and anti-social personality, and he was sure his elder brother was quite busy. What could he do? He didn't know.

With a sigh, he sat on the edge of his bed, tracing the intricate pattern upon the blue quilted covering with his forefinger. His arm hurt. It had been hurting for hours now, but he didn't want to say anything about it. There were more important things on everyone else's mind, and they needn't be bothered by something as menial as his broken arm. Besides, it had already been set and bandaged and put in a sling—there was nothing more to be done, and there was no reason to complain about it to anyone.

Perhaps he should have gone outside—he was depressing himself. A little sun could do him nothing but good, and a bit of mud never hurt anyone.

As he exited the room, he cast a wayward glance over at the four-poster bed that his mother now occupied. She slumbered peacefully for once. Good. After two weeks of no sleep at all, she could use a good, long nap.

Carefully, he picked his way toward her, avoiding the discarded decorative pillows that were strewn about the floor. She slept on her back, with her head turned in his direction and one hand on her stomach and the other on pillow beside her nose, fingers slightly curled. He took in the plains of her face, noticing that her eyelids were red and puffy and her skin was pale, waxen, and sickly. Her lips, once red and full, were chapped and thin. But she looked so peaceful now, Logan noted. She slept as if nothing had happened at all—no nightmares, no dreams. He envied her; while she had finally grasped an escape from the worries and pains of the day, he was granted no reprieve. His sleep was filled with images of screams and exploding carriages, so much so that he was at the point where he was afraid to sleep at all.

She breathed, even and deep. A limp red-gray curl of hair slipped from her forehead and into her eyes; gently, he tucked it back behind her ear and then planted a soft kiss upon her cheek, careful not to wake her. At least he had her and Elena and Richard. At least they were left.

He felt confident that she would be fine without him. She was only sleeping, after all, and there was a surplus of guards roaming about the castle grounds. And only Avo knew what kind of trouble Elena could get in to if left to her own devices. But as he turned to go, long, nimble fingers enclosed gently upon his wrist.

"Logan," his mother crooned softly, her voice rough with sleep and exhaustion.

"You should sleep," he warned her.

Her thinning lips stretched into a smile. "Come, let me hold you a while. Then I will sleep."

Logan obediently climbed onto the bed and lay beside his mother, her arms wrapped lovingly around him. He had grown accustomed to this—it seemed as though his mother never wanted him to leave her side since that horrible night. Not that he minded the attention.

"I can't tell you how glad I am that you're here," Maegan murmured, stroking his black hair.

He didn't reply. It wasn't that he was not glad that he survived the explosion. It was just that his brother, sisters, and father had not.

The queen's face contorted suddenly in inner pain and she hugged him closer to her. It was only when she pulled back that he noticed the tiny specks of wetness on the shoulder of her shirt. Tears. His tears. She wiped the remaining drops from his cheeks with a gentle thumb and looked him very seriously in the eye. "We'll get through this together, the four of us."

He gave a non-committal nod. He could only hope that her words were true.

***FABLE*III***

Elena was hopelessly lost.

She was terribly afraid, standing in the middle of the hedge-maze within the garden. Luckily, it was closer to the afternoon than it was night, but that didn't help the fact that she had no idea where she was or how to get out.

She wished Logan had come outside with her. He would have known what to do. But as it was, she would have to either keep wandering around, calling for help, or wait for someone to realize that she was missing.

She hugged her beloved stuffed bunny rabbit, Mrs. Cloverdale, to her chest. It was her only comfort in times like these, when no one was around to hear her cry. She buried her face in the soft stuffed animal.

She had been playing on the back steps to the garden when she saw a hooded woman standing at the entrance to the maze. She had an eerie prettiness about her, and Elena fancied that she was an angel, and when the women disappeared into the maze, she ran to follow her. She managed to keep a lock on the stranger's red and white robes, calling out for her to stop every so often. But her cries went unheard, just as they did when she cried now for help.

The angel had been a demon.

Elena sucked on her bottom lip to keep from crying, hugging Mrs. Cloverdale tighter. "Somebody help!" she hollered again, making her way round yet another corner only to find the way blocked by a dead end. "Anybody…"

"I'm here. It's okay."

She whirled in time to see a boy with short chocolate hair and ruddy cheeks standing there, a hand extended towards her. "It's okay," he said again, his face serious. "I know the way out."

Hesitantly, she took hold of his hand, and then they were on their way. He couldn't have been much older than her; he was only a smidge taller than she was. She swore that she had seen him somewhere before, because his plump face and soft green eyes were so familiar.

"Who are you?"

"I'm Elliot, the gardener's son." Ah, that explained it. "I used to get lost in here all the time, until my dad showed me the way. You're the princess, aren't you?"

"Yeah, I am…"

He smiled gently, comfortingly. "What are you doing here, Princess?"

"I was playing, but then I got lost." She looked down at her rabbit, chewing on her lip in embarrassment.

He frowned. "You were playing all by yourself?"

She nodded once.

"Don't you have anybody to play with? No friends?"

She puffed her chest out indignantly. "I do too! I play with my big brother Logan all the time! It's just that he didn't feel like playing today because of the mud."

"Brothers don't make good friends." He took note of her dirtied dress and dirt-smudged face. "I don't mind the mud."

"Logan's the best friend I've ever had!"

"Have you ever had any friends beside him?"

"Yes! Well… no. I've always had Anne, or Angie to play with…" Her voice trailed off and she looked down. "But they died."

He was silent for a moment. "I'm sorry." Then, as if to change the subject to something lighter, he said quickly, "You and I can be friends."

"But you're a stranger."

"No, I'm not. I know your name, and you know mine. We're not strangers anymore."

Clever, she thought, smiling. "Alright, let's be friends."

He paused. "You don't like to play 'tea-party', do you?"

She grinned as they emerged from the maze, hand in hand. "Never."

"Good," he said, releasing her hand, "Because I like to play…TAG!" and he smacked her arm before darting off in a random direction.

Stunned, she stood there for a moment, watching him retreat from her with a mad grin upon his pudgy little face. Then her face reddened and she gave chase, "HEY! No fair! I wasn't ready!"


	6. Chapter 6

_**Disclaimer: I own nothing**_

**The Prelude**

**Part Six**

There were many reasons as to why Richard despised Reaver. He was a selfish, pompous scum-bag, for one. But what that man had done to Industrial and its people… it was just too much.

Indeed, it was not as bad as it could have been—the good queen had seen to that—but the air was thick with odorous smog, and the place was filthy. The people who had the misfortune of living-or worse-working there were tired and unhappy. They never blamed his mother, but Richard could not help but harbor some anger towards her for letting it happen.

He and Sir Walter Beck were parading about the Industrial quarter of Bowerstone in the most disgusting clothes they could find, their faces purposely muddied and covered in order to mirror the dress and somber look of the poor that walked the streets. This proved to disguise them well enough—no one recognized the knight or the prince, or if they did, they said nothing on the subject.

Walter had yet to explain to Richard what the purpose of such a disguise was, and he was getting a little annoyed with the older man. How in the world would this get him the information he needed? All it served to do was thrust him out into the bowels of the city unnoticed, and also to depress him. There was virtually no need for this.

But the knight seemed to know what he was doing. Richard figured that he might as well take comfort in that fact.

As they walked, he noticed a little tow-headed girl pass him by, her head hung low as she begged for food or money from anyone who she thought would be able to provide such things. His heart sunk low. "That girl… where are her parents?"

"She's most likely an orphan," the older gentleman replied gravely. "There are several of the poor little tykes running about this part of the city. Your mother used to always visit with them, before the… incident."

Richard fell silent at that, his eyes locked on the little girl for a long time before Walter pulled him away. "We must go on to the docks. That is where the beggars gather."

"What would we want to do with beggars?" Richard asked, his face wrinkling up behind his tattered scarf. "Aside from give them money?"

"The beggars are the eyes and ears of the city. They will know where we can find your man, or at least give us a place we can start."

"So… These disguises…"

"Are to make them think that we're one of them, so they'll be more likely to trust us."

"I see… How very clever!"

"Ha! This old man hasn't lost his touch yet!"

They came to a semi-spiral stairway leading down towards the docks, and Walter once again took the lead. Richard was sure to copy the man's stance—head low and shoulders scrunched in submission. The beggars that were already there hardly spared them a passing glance.

"That royal family," he heard Walter suddenly growl, "I say they deserved what they got. It's too bad they all weren't killed!"

At first, it took every fiber of his being to resist socking Walter right in the face. But then he saw the man turn and wink at him from beneath his shaggy tri-corn hat, and he caught on. Taking on a less educated drawl, he agreed, "Oi, I know, righ'? Bunch o' sniveling cowards they all are—'ave you 'eard 'ow that brat Richard is trying to 'unt that Able Matthias down? The kid's a royal loon!"

"He won't get very far—if this Matthias fellow exists, he's probably much too sharp to be caught by that little weasel."

It was clear that they had caught the attention of one of the poor women that kneeled upon the dock, beside a crate. She eyed them for a moment, as Richard continued, "I wish I could 'ave been the one to throw that bomb. I wouldn't 'ave missed that boy."

"Got a good aim, have ye?" the woman croaked, rising to her feet. Richard stared at her. She would have been pretty if it weren't for all the dirt and grime, or for the unkindness she had been dealt by Reaver and the city.

"Oh, sure. Not as good as Reaver's, but I reckon I'll catch up to 'im sooner or later."

She seemed to be searching his face for answers, as if trying to determine if what he said was true or not. Then she said, "I know where you can put that skill to good use."

"Do ye?" Walter questioned, looking from the woman to Richard and then back again.

She nodded. "There's a man called Green that lives in the sewers. Talk to him."

"Does this Green pay well?"

"He doesn't do the paying."

"Who does?" Richard asked, perplexed. But she just shook her head.

"Just talk to Green."

He opened his mouth to ask her another question, but she overlapped him with, "Alms! Alms! Alms for the poor!"

* * *

Logan's spirits had begun to rise.

His mother had, over the past few days, slowly emerged from her room. She still looked sallow and worn, and her fiery red hair sported a few more grays, but she was moving about, eating, drinking, and speaking with the servants. It was good to see her regaining her strength, and everyone in the castle could finally let out a sigh of relief. Soon, they would have their old queen back, wounded as she was, and things could return to something akin to normalcy.

Logan was sure to keep a close watch over her, though. He knew that she was just putting on a brave face for everyone else; her heart still ached as much as his, and it would take more than a few weeks for time to mend the grievous wound they had been dealt. They would get through this together, as his mother had said. He planned on being there for her every step of the way.

That morning, she joined him and Elena at breakfast, taking her seat at the head of the table. She looked down at her plate and hesitated before looking up again, perplexed.

"Where is Richard?" she asked him. "He never misses breakfast."

"He went into town with Walter, Mother," he dutifully replied.

She paled a bit. "Into town….?"

"They're safe, Mother," he comforted her, worry starting to worm its way into the pit of his stomach. "Don't worry. No one is ever going to hurt us again….Everything will be fine, you'll see."

Elena looked from him to their mother, chewing her food in a most unladylike manner, her eyes wide with curiosity as the good queen mumbled some sort of excuse and exited the room again. Logan set down his fork and quietly told his sister to chew with her mouth closed; he suddenly didn't feel all that hungry any more.

**A/N: **Sorry to keep you all waiting and then come back with such a short chapter. Things have been hectic lately, and then I was hit with a really bad writer's block. Hopefully this means I'll get back into the swing of things and post some more chapters before school starts up again. Cheers!


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